


Light and Dark

by TheBookishFeminist



Category: Queen of the South (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:55:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25598416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBookishFeminist/pseuds/TheBookishFeminist
Summary: A new addition to the Cartel household is getting under Javier's skin.
Relationships: Boaz Jimenez/OC, Javier Jimenez/OC
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	Light and Dark

If someone had asked him to describe Teresa, many attributes would have come to mind. Smart, determined, ambitious, headstrong at times. One word he never would have used, however, was soft.  
While his patrona genuinely cared for her people, she was a far cry from those do-gooder bleeding hearts that couldn't say no to a tragic case.  
Or so he had thought.  
Of course Javier had heard about the altercation in Malta They all had. Throwing away a lucrative deal just to get a bunch of hookers out of a rough spot was at odds with pretty much every rule of cartel life and yet, Teresa had done just that.  
So when her call in the middle of the night summoned him to one of NOLA's seedier districts, he couldn't quash a sense of foreboding. Sure enough, when he pulled up at their rendezvous point, one look at Pote's stormy mien told him everything he needed to know. His fellow sicario was Teresa's staunchest supporter and if he was unhappy with whatever mission they had gathered for, it didn't bode well.  
As soon as she spotted him, she beckoned, waiting until he was by her side before she spoke.  
"We finally got intel on Lafayette. Seems he's involved with a ring of sex traffickers. If we can tie him to them, we can use it as leverage." she nodded at a nondescript, run down structure that had seen better days and wouldn't see them again. "The girls are kept in there, guarded and most likely drugged up. If we get them out, there's a chance one of them might know something and talk." She held up a hand to silence her sicario who had been about to cut in. "Si, Pote, lo se que es organizado en un plazo muy breve. We've been over this. We'll have to be prepared for anything. Kill anyone who gets in your way but don't harm the girls. Ready?"  
The men exchanged a grim look before they nodded in unison. Getting dirt on that leech of a judge might finally turn the tables and was therefore worth any risk.  
Guns drawn, they approached the building, Javier covering his comrade who kicked down the flimsy backdoor. The men inside clearly weren't prepared for an assault, much less a coordinated one from two professionals. The scant resistance was quickly overcome, so quickly the part of Javier that had led the Death Squad back in Juarez felt vaguely disappointed. The least any opponent could do was put up a fight before they went down.  
Once Pote gave the all clear, Teresa strode in, surveying the carnage without any emotion. Her eyes traveled the length of the room until they fastened on an unassuming wooden door at the back, the heavy duty bolt across the thin plywood a dead giveaway of where this particular gang of thugs stored their goods.  
All it took was an eyebrow raised in question for Javier to pat down the corpses until he emerged with a keyring. It was Pote's turn to cover him as he unlocked both the door and the padlock securing the bolt. On a silent count of three, Javier pushed the door open, his fighting stance relaxing the moment he took in the room.  
It was a sad sight indeed. The bare concrete was covered by an assortment of stained mattresses, thin, threadbare blankets folded with military precision at the foot of each. A covered bucket in the corner as well as a chipped basin completed the aesthetic, rivaling the bleakest jail cell he'd ever had the misfortune to inhabit.  
What touched even his hardened heart though was the pitiful flock of women, five of them, pressed against the back wall, a mass of silent tears and haunted eyes. While the tears would dry, Javier suspected that look would never quite fade from their expressions.  
Slowly, he stowed the gun in its holster before he raised his hands in a placating gesture. "Don't be afraid, we're here to get you out. The men who held you are…gone. Come now, you're safe. Come with us."  
Teresa had entered the room behind him and for a fleeting moment, he saw a strong emotion flit across her features, there and gone so fast he almost missed it. With a nod, she approached the women who hadn't budged from their protective huddle. "He's right. You're free now. My name is Teresa Mendoza, my men and I are here to take you away. Please, we'll have to leave now."  
She was met by blank stares until one of the women detached herself from the group, murmuring unintelligible reassurances at the others before she approached Teresa cautiously.  
"They barely speak English. They're Russian. Yelena, Katya and Mascha." she explained in a trembling voice, pointing out the women as she spoke their names until, at last, her eyes came to rest on the last of them. "I don't know where Anna comes from. Well, we call her Anna, she's never spoken so much as a word. Are…are you really here to get us out?" her voice was rough and the way it cracked at the question filled even Javier with pity. This was no way to treat another human being, even if all they were was a business investment. Teresa seemed to be on the same page for he heard her swallow before she answered. "Yes. Yes we're really here to help you but we've got to hurry, we don't know if more men are coming."  
That seemed to decide her. Keeping an eye on them all the while, she turned to the other women, speaking in what Javier assumed was rapid fire Russian. Whatever she'd told them roused the group and, clutching each other for support, they filed out of the dreary cell, giving both him and Pote a cautious berth. Their translator went last, daring to make eye contact as she passed Javier. "Did you kill them? The men that held us?" Her unexpected question surprised him, even more her reaction at his wordless nod of confirmation. "Good." she said emphatically, the strong emotion lending her tone the faintest trace of an accent. "Thank you." she added, including both him and Teresa in the statement before she scurried after the other girls.  
Similar to the stunt in Malta, George would eventually take over and smuggle the women out of the country, the plan being that Teresa would interrogate them on Lafayette's potential involvement, offering them their freedom afterwards. The small party climbed into the van Pote had had the foresight to bring, taking the girls to the bar until George had everything in place. As they all filed in, Javier was once again surprised when the woman turned on her heel. "Where are you taking us? After this?" a note of fear had crept into her voice, the taut expression slowly relaxing as Teresa explained what she had planned. Unexpectedly, the woman shook her head. "Send them back. They have a life in Russia, families. They were traveling together, backpacking across the US when they were captured and…and sold like cattle." her voice shook but she stood firm. "Me? I don't have anyone. No home to go back to. Please," she turned a pleading gaze on Teresa, "I… I could work for you. I can be useful, you won't regret it. You're a good woman, helping the likes of us. If.. If you send me back out on the streets again then…that will be my fate. Please… Teresa. Don't make me go back to that."  
Javier could pinpoint the exact moment she gave in. Something fierce shone in her eyes as she took the woman's hands in hers.  
"I won't. You will never have to sell yourself again to survive, I promise you that." she vowed, her voice thick. The woman's eyes were brimming with tears, her grip on Teresa's hands white knuckled as she bowed her head deferentially.  
"No. You don't have to cower anymore. What's your name?"  
Slowly, she lifted her face. "Zoya." came her answer, barely above a whisper. Keeping hold of her hands a moment longer, a silent communication seemed to pass between the two until Teresa gently let her go. "That's beautiful. Tell me, Zoya, does the name Lafayette ring any bells?"  
~~~~ One month later~~~~  
Javier cursed silently as he saw the faint line of light peek from underneath the door. So she was still up.  
Ever since that fateful day, his routine, his equilibrium, his very being was in constant disarray.  
Once the other women were safely delivered into George's care - all expect mute Anna who took one look at him and quite literally dug her heels in until Teresa had taken pity and offered her a place to stay. The girl's only reaction had been to silently shuffle back into the building and busy herself with tidying the bar area, something she soon adopted as her job, along with other cleaning duties. She seemed happy enough, a silent specter armed with a dust pan. Javier had no issue with the girl, something that could definitely not be said about the other addition to their household.  
Teresa and Zoya had ended up talking through the night. While she didn't know Lafayette by name, she did recognize his picture, the hate-filled expression burning a hole into the screen as she recounted the gruesome details of his involvement with her tormentors. It had allowed Teresa to plot against the judge and she was optimistic that the scheme would pay off.  
True to her word, she had accepted the woman into her home, the compound they currently all inhabited more than large enough for two additions. It would have been nothing to Javier, yet for some reason he couldn't explain her very presence irked him.  
Despite his profession, he wasn't cruel by nature and he did feel for her, but a week in had him convinced she was no match for Cartel life. When he'd walked in from a particularly tense stake out, she had greeted him by the door, offering a batch of homemade cookies "to cheer him up". The next day, a small bouquet of flowers had appeared in his room "to brighten the place".  
With clenched teeth, he had stared at the joyful peonies, his anger roiling. Grabbing the offending blooms, he'd stalked into the kitchen where she was busy whipping up yet another batch of baked goods.  
"The hell is this?" he'd growled, throwing the bent flowers at her feet. Her look was a mix of hurt and confusion when her eyes met his. "I.. I only meant to.. As a thank you for… For helping me and.. You seemed so tense the other day, I thought-"  
With an impatient gesture, he'd cut her off. "I don't want your pinche floras or your fucking cookies. You have no idea what this life is like, you think you bake some shit and everything's better? I'll tell you how it is, chica, you either toughen up or you die. You? You're just too fucking soft, and soft's a liability we can't afford. Soft gets you killed." with that he'd stormed away, slamming his door for good measure.  
He wasn't usually the type to snap like that, especially at a woman, but something about her riled him no end.  
The ensuing weeks had been hectic enough to avoid her, their play against Lafayette being set in motion and tonight had been the final piece before the strike. After a round trip to collect his loco cousin who'd flown in from Sinaloa as backup, the two Jimenez' and Pote had hit up a joint frequented by the judges' men. They'd killed all but one, a weasly fella who'd not even tried to fight but instead made a run for it. With a wild cackle, Boaz had given chase and eventually captured the man, not without banging him up in the process. "Shit, primo." Javier cursed when he took in the semi conscious form. "Teresa wants us to interrogate the guy, how're we gonna do that if he's half dead, eh, cabron?" To no one's surprise, Boaz only shrugged. "Ought to thank me, marzipan. Little fucker would've gotten away if it hadn't been for me."  
Javier knew better than to reason with his cousin, so, together, they hoisted the prone form into the car and headed back to the compound. Once the man was securely tied to a chair, Javier called Teresa, who was spending the day with Tony.  
"We've got him, patrona. He's, ah, little worse for wear, might need a doctor if we want him in any shape for an interrogation. I'll handle it." after a brief conversation, he hung up and pocketed the phone.  
"I can help." A voice piped up behind him, startling him so badly he actually jumped.  
"Madre de Dios, woman, are you fucking insane? Don't sneak up on me like that. What are you on about anyway? This ain't nothing cookies or flowers will help with."  
The steely look in her eyes was unlike anything he'd ever seen from her before. Squaring her shoulders, she stood tall and straight as she faced off to him. "I was going to be a doctor, back in Russia. Came here to finish my degree but I was taken before I could. You," she said, her expression not unlike someone beholding a stinking pile of dirt, "You can take your shitty attitude and bad manners and suck it up. I am not some imbecile you can bark at, and if being nice offends you so, very well, we can play it your way. I promised Teresa I would be useful and I will not have you make me a liar. I will be useful, so take me to that man, get me a first aid kit, towels and tequila and shut the hell up."  
Had she spontaneously burst into song, Javier could not have been more stunned. He felt his jaw drop as he gaped, unable to process her words until, with a glare, she snapped her fingers. "Now, if you're done staring like a goldfish." It was a testament to his consternation that he didn't even try to fight her. Without a word, he rushed into the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of tequila, a stack of towels and one of the medkits before he returned. Thankfully his composure had returned as well, and while his ego and pride bristled at the way she was handling him, he couldn't deny a new, albeit grudging sense of respect. "You sure you can handle it?" he asked, handing her the supplies as he led her to the room where the prisoner was kept. Without breaking her stride, she answered. "The things I've seen in that hell-hole, the things they did to us, I've lost count how often I had to patch up the girls. Myself. Don't make assumptions about what I can and cannot handle."  
Javier remained silent at that and, sure enough, when she entered the room, she made a beeline for the bloodied, unconscious form. When she looked at his face, she tensed for the briefest moment before she started tending to him with practiced ease, not so much as batting an eye. It was all he could do to watch her, almost in awe, a feeling of shame at the way he'd treated her slowly creeping up on him. Soon, her capable ministrations bore fruit and the man began to stir.  
"Thank you. Get Boaz on your way out, yeah?" Javier said quietly, unwilling, to let her bear witness to what they were about to do but she made no move to leave. Instead, when the man's eyes swiveled to her, she strolled over to the small metal cart that held the tools of their trade, an assortment of knives, pliers and other devices heralding the painful hours awaiting their victim.  
With an almost casual air, she picked up one of the knives, small and sharp, not unlike a scalpel. When she lightly traced her thumb over the wicked blade, Javier could see a single bead of blood well up. So could the man. His unwavering gaze was fixed on her, the first shoots of fear chasing across his battered features.  
"Did you know," Zoya said in a calm, sweet voice, "that the human body can survive without most of its organs, for a time?" slow, deliberate steps took her closer to the man. When she came to stand in front of him, she lightly traced the knife across his abdomen, slicing clean through the fabric of his shirt.  
"In fact," she continued, circling the chair, the man by now visibly shaking, "since we don't have an anesthetic at hand, you'd even be able to watch. That is, if you can focus through the excruciating pain."  
She had come full circle, her eyes boring down on the man. "You were there. You were one of them. The ones who locked us up. Who beat and tortured us." her voice shook but the hand holding the knife didn't waver. Javier stood by, mesmerized, his heart clenching as he watched her confront one of her tormentors. Images of her in that cell flashed before his mind, her mangled body just starting to heal. How she'd managed to hold on to her kindness, pride and determination despite all they had done to her.  
His eyes skipped to their prisoner, the infamous Jimenez rage clouding his vision. Never had he wanted to kill someone as much as he did at that moment. Zoya seemed to sense his gaze for she turned around. When their eyes met, he read his sentiment mirrored in hers, the moment of silent understanding connecting him more than any words ever could.  
She didn't spare the shaking man so much as another glance as she walked towards Javier, knife held out to him, hilt first. "Please." she said, the faintest tremor in her voice betraying her emotions. "Do your worst."  
Javier took the knife, his free hand grabbing hers in a tight grip, an unspoken promise, before he let her go. The door clicked softly shut behind her.  
With a feral grin, Javier turned on what would soon be another nameless corpse feeding the gators in the bayou. "Ay, puto, time we have ourselves a little fun, you and I."  
~~~~  
When it was over, Javier slumped against the door, panting yet satisfied. Not only had he gotten the information Teresa had needed, he'd also made the bastard suffer for everything he did to Zoya, to every girl he and his ilk snatched off the streets like berries ripe for the picking.  
After he'd reported to his patrona, he instructed two of their men to dispose of the body and, after a brief shower, he went in search of Zoya, whom he found on one of the balconies that overlooked the quarter.  
"Hecho. It's done. He gave it all up. His life too, in the end." he said quietly, opting to lean against the railing a few feet to her left. "Listen I-Im sorry. For the way I treated you. I had no right. I made assumptions and I shouldn't-"  
Her hand, soft and gentle on his arm, stilled his flood of words. "No. You shouldn't have. But you weren't wrong. I had to learn that the hard way. So. I forgive you. Under one condition." The ghost of a smirk tugged at her lips, the sight coupled with her tender touch sending an entirely different kind of flutter through him.  
"Oh? And what's your condition, mamacita?" If his tone held a flirty note, she didn't seem to mind. Her smirk grew into a grin as she turned to face him. "I will allow you to take me out to dinner. A good place, none of those diners you live off when Pote doesn't cook." Her words were sure, challenging even, but he could read the faint trace of insecurity. Trusting his instincts, he closed the distance between them to run a single finger down her cheek."Be my pleasure, Zo'. Whenever you like." Her eyes met his as she raised her face, the air suddenly charged as her grip on his arm tightened. Javier leaned closer, closer still, until almost -  
The sound of voices nearby had them jump apart hastily, both sporting sheepish expressions that somehow conveyed this isn't over yet.  
He looked around, spying the form of his cousin through the French doors separating the balcony from the living room. It was Boaz' booming bass that sounded. "No no no, princesa, don't be scared. This pendejo ain't hurtin no one no more. Come on, sweetheart, relax. You haven't told me your name."  
Through the curtain, Javier could make out the form of Anna, trembling and upset. She must have seen the man they'd brought in and recognized him, same as Zoya had. Javier was just about to step into the room - his primo wasn't exactly known for being delicate and comforting, when he had the next shock of the night.  
"Mariella. My name is…Mariella." Her voice was faint, rusty with disuse but it grew stronger as she continued. "Are you s-sure? H-he's.. Are they really gone?" The way she looked up at Boaz, of all people, made Javier uneasy, lest he take advantage of the poor woman, but his cousin's expression stunned him all over.  
With a tenderness he hadn't seen in him since Kique was a baby, he brushed a lock of her hair away from her face. "Si, there's nothing more for you to worry about. Come on, you look like you could use a drink." Taking her hand in his, Boaz led the woman - Mariella - towards the kitchen, leaving Javier and Zoya to look at each other in utter bafflement.  
"We'll, I'll be." she muttered incredulously as the unlikely couple disappeared from view. "You know," she said, rounding on him with a twinkle in her eye. "Since the kitchen is occupied, it doesn't look like we'll be getting dinner anytime soon. We should give the two some space, if she's comfortable with him - God knows why - I don't want to disturb them. So…" she trailed off but Javier had caught on.  
"Say no more, I know just the place. That is, if you'll allow me to take you to dinner tonight?"  
In response, she laughed, the glow transfixing him even as he felt an answering smile spread across his face.  
"I'll allow. Lead the way, caballero." He didn't care that her accent butchered the word, he didn't mind being bossed around.  
All he cared about was her hand in his as he led her back inside, the promise of a future to come.


End file.
